


where your hands should be

by fwop



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Coming Untouched, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut, Switch Anakin, Switch Obi-Wan, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwop/pseuds/fwop
Summary: “Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, something desperate in his voice. Obi-Wan looks his fill at his flushed cheeks, the small wounds from the earlier battle blemishing otherwise smooth skin. His hair is still mussed, like he too took off his outer armor and couldn’t wait any longer than that to come to him.The way that makes Obi-Wan feel… God, he wants to fill Anakin up, near delirious with how quickly that desire scoops out his insides and makes itself a home there.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 25
Kudos: 389





	where your hands should be

**Author's Note:**

> JOIN MY OBIKIN DISCORD SERVER. You can get the link by messaging me via tumblr @ godsensei.tumblr.com.

Obi-Wan lies on his back, only the black under garment of his armor left on. He’d gotten the outer armor off and just collapsed on the bed, the weight of an entire universe on his shoulders. 

There were too many casualties today. It’s his responsibility not to let that happen. The Clones don’t deserve that. Innocent citizens don’t deserve that. 

Their intel had been good, but it still lead them to an ambush— to many droids vs. too little reinforcements. Obi-Wan’s body aches all over, like pressing on an old bruise every time he moves. 

That’s not what matters… What matters is—

His thoughts cut off as his door snicks open with a hiss.

Anakin stands at the open door, his silence almost as eerie as the silence of the battlefield when it had all been over. Nobody had said anything to the other after they’d exited their LAAT ships, feeling the gravity of this mission much more than any other. It had been all out war on the battlefield. 

Obi-Wan sits up, hunching over to let his elbows rest on his knees as he watches Anakin watch him. 

“Are you--?” Obi-Wan goes to ask, but Anakin is already moving, shutting the door behind him and locking it with a code— staying there, turned away, his forehead pressed to the cold durasteel. Obi-Wan knows Anakin takes it hard when it happens like this. He has a vantage point that nobody else does, as Jedi— feels every body fall, every death— even the innocent ones. Unlike other Jedi, he has a harder time letting it go. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, keeping his voice soft, kind. Anakin sucks in a breath and exhales shakily, turning and striding towards Obi-Wan with purpose. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in surprise when Anakin shoves him back with a hand in the middle of his chest, crawling on top of him before he can say anything. 

“Anakin--”

“I’m going to strip you down the rest of the way,” Anakin begins, his voice shaking, his eyes flashing, “and then I’m going to use you until I don’t feel like this anymore. Can you let me do that?”

Sometimes, the things Anakin says. He can feel himself responding just from those simple words and the brief images flashing along his field of vision— his cock filling up, thick underneath Anakin’s hips. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, something desperate in his voice. Obi-Wan looks his fill at his flushed cheeks, the small wounds from the earlier battle blemishing otherwise smooth skin. His hair is still mussed, like he too took off his outer armor and couldn’t wait any longer than that to come to him. 

The way that makes Obi-Wan feel… God, he wants to fill Anakin up, near delirious with how quickly that desire scoops out his insides and makes itself a home there. 

“You can have anything you want,” Obi-Wan answers, fully meaning that, hands falling to his sides to keep from grabbing at Anakin. He wants to dig his fingers into flesh, pull at Anakin until he finds that sacred place that he offers Obi-Wan in the dead of night— a tight, warm space to fuck into. 

Anakin pulls away from him, a sweet slide of friction that has him grunting as Anakin moves to his side. He pushes Obi-Wan over onto his stomach and even that fills Obi-Wan up with thoughts of Anakin moving in him, pressing him into the sheets, until all he can think about is the point where they meet. His hips twitch towards the mattress, needing the pressure. He’s already so hard for Anakin, and nothing has even happened. 

He can feel Anakin’s fingers at the nape of his neck, where the opening to the black under suit waits. The zipper descends slowly, as if he’s drawing it out for his own benefit, and Obi-Wan swears he can feel the heat of Anakin’s gaze roving over the skin revealed, bit-by-bit. Anakin has always been one for worship, letting Obi-Wan know just how much he enjoys what he sees, vocally or otherwise. 

A kiss against his back, open-mouthed with a press of tongue, has Obi-Wan sighing against the bedsheets. But today is not a day for foreplay, he knows— there’s plenty of time for roaming hands and searching lips. Usually, Anakin loves drawing it out and teasing until Obi-Wan has to grab him by his hips and show him how desperate he’s made him, fucking Anakin so roughly, so thoroughly, he can barely walk the next day. 

Anakin doesn’t speak today, which is also unlike him, because usually Obi-Wan can’t get him to quiet, even when they’re fucking in precarious spots where people might be able to hear. He has to a shove a hand over Anakin’s mouth, press him against the wall with the weight of his body, and smother any noise that he happens to draw out of Anakin. Which is a lot. Once his cock is inside, Anakin can’t seem to stop babbling, or moaning, or crying. He’s much better at being the quiet of the two, though if Anakin in inside him, he gets a little mean-spirited with his thrusts until Obi-Wan will make even the smallest hiccup of noises. 

Anakin pulls him onto his back again, and he watches Anakin yank at the black under suit until Obi-Wan’s completely bare, the coolness of the room making him shiver. There’s still sweat cooling on his skin from the battle, but Anakin doesn’t seem to care as he stands and throws the suit across the room, and shoves his own off just as quickly. He pulls the oil Obi-Wan keeps in his bedside desk from it’s hiding place. 

“Scoot,” Anakin orders, and Obi-Wan moves backwards until his legs are no longer hanging over the end of the bed. Anakin crawls back onto him, resting on himself on Obi-Wan’s thighs. He opens the bottle, pouring the oil into one hand and capping the bottle before he leans forward. 

Obi-Wan sucks in a breath as Anakin’s hand starts working around him, jacking him off, stomach muscles clenching. He’s already dribbling pre-cum, too keyed up, and the oil slicks him up even further. Anakin bites his lip hard as he watches himself work, and Obi-Wan can tell he’s still trying to block things out. His eyes are suspiciously wet and Obi-Wan aches with the desire to pull that all from Anakin onto himself. 

Anakin twists his wrist, and Obi-Wan makes a noise, rolling his hips up into the contact. Two hands are suddenly on him as he shifts upward, one hand stroking down his cock, the other following directly after, as if he’s fucking something tight and endless. 

His head falls back to the bed, jaw clenching at the sensation. Anakin knows how to work him— with his hands, with his mouth, with every part of him, like his body was made for Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan only. 

Anakin spends less time on himself. He tosses the bottle just off the bed, sits up on his knees to shuffle forward.

“Don’t wanna finger myself,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan complies immediately to the hidden meaning, gripping the base of his dick to stave off the desire that shoots straight through him. He bites his lip as he watches Anakin brace himself and sink down, when he feels the head of his cock press at his entrance, the tight rings there already contracting. 

He shudders violently when Anakin breaches and Obi-Wan lets out a long moan, throwing his head back as his muscles squeeze around Obi-Wan, releasing as Obi-Wan opens him up right there on his cock. Forward, forward, and then further still, sinking painfully slow until he’s sitting flush against Obi-Wan’s hip bones, trembling. 

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice pitched low with the strain to stay still, and Anakin nods quickly, grasping the fleshier part of Obi-Wan’s hips. Panting, Anakin hovers over him for a minute, groaning as he squeezes around Obi-Wan.

Every time they’re like this, Obi-Wan is so vividly present. Every thought in his mind comes down to the two of them, joined, the honey sweet, syrupy slowing of time. He knows Anakin feels that way, too. It’s why he’s here.

Finally, Anakin pulls himself up and slides back down, small movements that have Obi-Wan breathless beneath him, liquid fire spreading through his limbs until he’s dizzy with it. He wants so much to turn them over and just move, but… this is for Anakin. He would do anything for Anakin— he _needs_ this. 

Anakin’s mouth falls open the more he bears down, closes his eyes when he shifts, eyebrows furrowing as if he’s in the best sort of pain. Obi-Wan thrusts shallowly when they’re flush against one another again, and Anakin clenches his teeth tightly as he’s fucked into from below.

It’s compelling to watch himself disappear into that velvet heat, but he lets his eyes and hands roam, can see where Anakin has become hard, swollen thick and flushed between his thighs.

“I wanna--” Anakin says, cutting himself off. He shifts minutely, and forces a noise from Obi-Wan that only he is privy to. Obi-Wan gasps as Anakin goes tight around him, having brushed against that sensitive bit of nerves inside. Anakin fumbles, but tries to maintain that angle, moving again and again, shaking all over. 

“F-fuck,” Anakin says, leaning back and bracing his hands against Obi-Wan’s thighs. He’s all but pistoning at this point, his own cock slapping his stomach obscenely, a smear of pre-cum there against his abs as evidence. He squeezes his eyes shut, head thrown back as he takes Obi-Wan into himself over and over. 

Obi-Wan has never seen him _quite_ like this before. It’s equally parts terrifying and beautiful, and steadily pulling his muscles taut, his balls, full and round, drawing up tightly. Just seeing Anakin like this, the curve of his hips as he works, the blush that goes all the way down his chest, his muscles undulating with the need for release, it’s enough to draw him up like a bow string. 

“Anakin--” 

“Don’t come yet,” Anakin orders in a gasp, “not yet.”

He drops forward over Obi-Wan again, hips working slower now, hands braced on Obi-Wan’s chest and Obi-Wan can’t help himself. He reaches up, hands curling into Anakin’s hair and bringing him down for a kiss. 

Anakin doesn’t object, rather, he seems desperate for it. He parts his lips with ease, deepening their kiss as he rocks them back and forth. Obi-Wan slides his hands down Anakin’s back, all the way down to grip his ass cheeks, spreading them as he lets himself slowly meet Anakin’s thrusts with his own. 

Anakin breaks their kiss with a jagged, sobbing moan. He hides his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder as Obi-Wan shushes him sweetly, pressing his hips up and up. The new position allows him to fuck into Anakin _deeply_ , and he can’t help the guttural noises that fall from his lips in response. 

His arms encircle Anakin’s waist, holding him close, a melody of gasps and a broken moans driving them both to urgency. That Anakin is here with him, opening up to him, letting go-- it’s humbling. Every part of this is humbling. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Anakin orders him, voice pitched up high. Obi-Wan groans but acquiesces, almost crying out when Anakin lifts himself up off of him. It’s dark in the room, but Obi-Wan can see the tears clinging to his long lashes, the flush of his face as he cries silently. 

He sits up, grasping Anakin’s cheeks and pulling him into a gentle kiss. 

_Sorry,_ he wants to say. _I'm so sorry, dear one.  
_

—That Anakin has to live as a Jedi in this time of war… that his heart is so full of love for everyone and everything around him… that being a Jedi is killing him. It somehow feels like his fault— for teaching him when everyone said he shouldn’t. Maybe he should’ve let Anakin leave the Order when he was younger… Back then, he’d wanted more than anything to fulfill Qui-Gon’s last wish, to do _something_ right. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says into his mouth, voice breaking. 

He can make up for it. 

“I have you,” Obi-Wan says, pushing a lock of curly hair behind his ear. “Anything you want.” 

Anakin shoves him back down, spreading his thighs apart and pushing into him with little warning. 

“Fuck--” he can’t help but say. It doesn’t necessarily hurt— he’s done this many times, he knows how to relax, how to take a cock, but it _aches_. 

Anakin sets an abruptly rough, fast pace that Obi-Wan takes, throwing his arms around Anakin’s shoulders and panting in his ear. 

“Force,” Anakin slurs, canting his hips, squeezing Obi-Wan tightly, “I think about this all the time. You look so good.”

Obi-Wan feels unbelievably full, so filled up he can scarcely breathe, all his breath going into punched out moans. He can’t help it. He can’t. Anakin knows exactly how to make him desperate, how to make his muscles shake all over.   
  
He drops his arms, grasping the bedsheets instead and Anakin sits up, shifting his arms up under Obi-Wan’s thighs and holding them as he _really_ gives it to him, his knees digging into the mattress. 

“The sounds you make,” Anakin says, sweating beading on his forehead, slipping down the side of his face. “I’d tease you about it later if you wouldn’t kill me for it.” 

“You’re one to t-- _alk_ ,” his back arches, nipples tightening up at how good that feels— “Anakin, ah--”

“Yeah, just like that,” he says, and there’s the Anakin that Obi-Wan knows, growing cocky as he keeps that angle going. Obi-Wan’s toes are curling up, jaw hanging open, his eyelashes fluttering. “Come on, Obi-Wan. I can feel you. You’re so close.”

His whole body is tensing, heart thudding in his ears as he looks up at Anakin, at the way he’s gritting his teeth, chest heaving. 

He wants to say, “You’re so beautiful.” 

Instead, his eyes roll back, and he comes and comes, sounding drunk as he lets out the same note over and over, _unh unh ahn_ , making a mess of them both. 

Anakin has to drop over him again, burying himself in the crook of his neck where he smells like sweat and dry desert and tea leaves. He comes too, jerking so hard it almost hurts, and he grabs at Obi-Wan like he _needs_ to be touching him, holding onto something as he spills. 

It’s a slow float back down to the ground, Obi-Wan absentmindedly stroking a hand down Anakin’s spine, comforting him, giving him an anchor. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, and moves, leaves Obi-Wan empty. It feels wrong but then again, it always does. 

He settles too close, their sticky skin touching in the heat they’ve created in the room. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Obi-Wan asks eventually. 

“Not yet. Just this,” Anakin says, reaching down to intertwine their fingers. Obi-Wan squeezes his hand. “I love you.” 

It hurts to hear. Nothing good can come of this, but he wants it so badly. More than anything he’s ever wanted. 

“I love you,” he breathes in reply. 


End file.
